Chapter 4 - The Deathbed Secret
The fire in the study grate remained dead, but the air in the room felt thick, stifocatingly hot with tension. Samuel clutched the rim of the glass of water, his knuckles white, staring into the middle distance as he recalled the rainy Sunday afternoon at Aunt June’s house in the suburbs.
"I was upstairs in the guest room," Samuel began, his voice barely louder than the hum of the antique grandfather clock in the corner. "My window was open because it was stuffy. Aunt June and Vanessa were talking out on the back patio. They thought I was asleep."
Luca leaned in closer, resting his forearms on his knees, his entire focus locked onto his younger brother. "Go on, Sammy."
"Aunt June was crying," Samuel continued, his lower lip trembling slightly. "She was telling Vanessa that it was wrong—that keeping it a secret was destroying me. She said Luca had a right to know what really happened at St. Jude's Hospital the night Dad died."
My breath caught in my throat. St. Jude’s Hospital. Ten months ago. Frank Moretti had suffered a massive, fatal stroke late at night. Only a handful of people had been permitted in the intensive care unit during his final hours: Luca, the attending physician, and—according to official family history—Vanessa, who had arrived later to comfort Luca in the waiting room.
"What did Vanessa say?" Luca asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, glacial whisper.
"She told Aunt June to shut up," Samuel whispered, a tear finally escaping and tracking down his dusty cheek. "She said that if Luca ever found out about the document—about what Dad signed before he flatlined—the wedding was off, and she would make sure Luca cut ties with the family completely. She said Dad’s signature was the only thing standing between Luca and total control of the shipping ports, but... but that Dad had changed his mind at the very last second."
The room plunged into an absolute, deathly stillness.
Luca didn't move. He didn't blink. But the color completely drained from his face, leaving him looking ashen, as if he had just been struck by lightning.
"What document, Sammy?" Luca asked, his voice strained, stripped of all its usual authority. "What did Dad sign?"
"I don't know," the boy confessed, burying his face in his hands. "I just heard them shouting about a trust. About how Dad wanted to split the estate equally between you and me when I turned twenty-one, instead of leaving everything to the primary syndicate holdings where Vanessa had voting rights. Vanessa said she made sure that paper never made it to the lawyers."
I watched Luca slowly stand up. He walked over to the tall arched windows, staring out into the rain-drenched Chicago night. His broad shoulders were rigid, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that the skin over his knuckles was translucent.
Everything clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
Vanessa Bellini hadn't just manipulated a fourteen-year-old boy out of jealousy or household convenience. She hadn't just isolated Samuel to keep him out of the way of high-society wedding preparations. It was all a calculated, ruthless financial coup. If Samuel was cast out, labeled a burden, and psychologically broken down until he ran away or surrendered his rights, the trust would lapse. The shipping ports—the crown jewel of the Moretti criminal and legitimate enterprise—would fall entirely under the primary syndicate voting block, where Vanessa had positioned herself as Luca’s sole legal beneficiary.
She hadn't just stolen a brother's place in his home. She had stolen his inheritance, his father's final dying wish, and ten months of his childhood.
"Luca?" Samuel asked, his voice cracking with fear. "Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong by telling you?"
Luca turned around instantly. The cold, terrifying mob boss was gone, replaced once more by an older brother whose heart was breaking for the boy sitting before him. He crossed the room in two long strides, dropping back to his knees and pulling Samuel into a fierce, desperate embrace.
"You didn't do anything wrong, buddy," Luca choked out, his voice thick with unhedged emotion. "You saved us. You saved everything your father built."
He pulled back, looking deeply into Samuel's eyes. "Listen to me. You are never leaving this house again. Not for Aunt June's, not for boarding school, not for anyone. Your room is right down the hall. Your baseball trophies are still in the attic—I packed them myself after the funeral, and I'm going to unpack them tonight. Do you hear me?"
Samuel managed a small, watery smile, throwing his arms around Luca's neck and burying his face in his shoulder. "Okay, Luca. I'm not going anywhere."
Luca held him tightly for a long moment before gently setting him back. Then, he stood up, his gaze shifting from his brother to me standing quietly by the door.
"Hannah," Luca said, his voice flat, heavy with the weight of an impending storm.
May you like
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Pack a bag for Vanessa's belongings from the master suite. Have security throw them out by the gates before midnight." He paused, his amber eyes flashing with a cold, merciless light. "And call Marcus. Tell him I want every financial record, every deed, and every communication involving the Frank Moretti estate placed on my desk by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. We are going to audit our entire life—starting from the night my father died."
